Fireworks, Fantasies, and the Fourth of July
by Heart of a Music Box
Summary: Alfred has had over two-hundred birthdays, many of them happy and others...not so much. What could make this his best birthday yet?


"...and the rockets red glaaaaaaaaare, the bombs bursting in aaaaaaaaaiiiir..."

Alfred groaned bemusedly as the radio blared his national anthem. No matter what station he turned to, it seemed to be playing either The Star Spangled Banner, or God Bless America, or something slow and sappy along those lines. He loved those songs, truth be told, he really did. He loved them on Memorial Day and Veteran's Day and Pearl Harbor Remembrance Day.

Just not on his birthday.

"I've got some of the most talented musicians alive in my house," he laughed to himself as he hung the last red, white, and blue striped bow on his picket fence, "so why can't they write any happy patriotic songs?"

He couldn't bring himself to dwell on that little detail, however, for his guests would be arriving in a mere two hours and he had to finish laying out the buffet table. He knew his fellow nations would be bringing trays and platters of their own national foods and desserts-this he looked forward to most-but he had to add a touch of good old American cuisine; hot dogs, French fries, buttered corn on the cob and potato chips, and of course a gigantic platter of his beloved hamburgers. The old tripod-style grill had been pushed to its limit, making such huge servings of grilled-to-perfection meats, but the old thing had pulled through, as it did every year. He inhaled happily the scent of the food and chocolate cupcakes in the oven, almost ready to be iced in red, white, and blue, and then sprinkled with stars of the same color. He knew everyone except for Kiku would adore them, he'd taken care to make sure the frosting was real butter-cream.

Two hours later, like clockwork, his doorbell went ringing through the house, and he raced his dog to greet his first guests; the always punctual Ludwig, Elisaveta, and Roderich. He chuckled at the package of bratwursts Ludwig was toting, assuming the beer was in the less-than-capable hands of his elder brother.

It was around eight o'clock in the evening when the party was really underway. All of his former allies, many of his former enemies, and just as many other countries, were packed into his dining room and large backyard. Ludwig and Francis had taken over the distribution of food, along with Veneziano's attempt at helping them, which had ended predictably in a flying bowl of the salsa Miguel had provided. Said Mexican was now being restrained by a disgruntled-looking Antonio, all while the Italian's elder brother shouted for more tomato slices. Berwald, Mathis, Tino, Gilbert, Vash, and Kiku had decided to partake in an impromptu soccer tournament, being observed by Roderich-sipping tea in a folding chair-, Elisaveta, Lily, the remaining two Nordics, Matthew, and finally Natalya-who was really only observing Ivan, who was chatting with his other sister on the far side of the yard. The Baltic nations had concealed themselves in the garden shed the moment Ivan had arrived, so Alfred had only had a few moments to greet them and accept his birthday present from Toris, whom Feliks was trying in vain to coax out with an ear of corn. Yao had discovered Alfred's cat, George Washiwhiskers, and had taken very happily to introducing him to his panda in the corner of his wooden patio.

The nations mingled and talked, and Alfred smiled as he watched them. He'd never known the entire world to be in such proximity and acting peacefully. He knew deep down that, in fact, this was not actually the entire world, and that he still had enemies that despised him and conspired against his life. Still, as he watched his former nemeses, Ludwig, Ivan, Kiku, and even Hue talking happily with the others, he fueled a childish hope within his heart that some day all his wrongs could be forgiven.

Yet, somehow, the oldest and most disputed wrong he'd ever committed was the hardest to reconcile, he realized as he solemnly noted the lack of bushy eyebrows and burnt-to-a-crisp scones in the yard.

Even after over two centuries, his former caretaker, ally, and friend Arthur couldn't find it in his heart to forgive Alfred for his revolution. For many years, Alfred resented him in return for his childishness, scoffing at him and deciding he didn't need him around anyway. After years of his absence on Alfred's most important holiday, however, the anger had cooled into longing, and indeed he did long for the day that the Englishman could let go of the past and join in the party. He pictured emerald eyes shining as he pulled open the old oak front door, a gift-wrapped box in hand which Alfred would promptly ignore and sweep Arthur off his feet in a romantic sort of kiss. That was his birthday fantasy, and he always laughed a little sadly when he assessed how ridiculous and unrealistic it was. Still, he was young by empire and nation standards, and hope was something most young people held dear.

Fireworks began promptly at nine-thirty in the evening, just over the hillside where his backyard ended. Nations in couples and in groups huddled and held hands as the cool night air replaced the comfortable heat of the day. Every nation at the party stood in attention to the display; even the Baltics had been coerced from their hiding place to watch. Alfred, the benefactor of this celebratory show, stood alone on the topmost balcony of his home, watching them with a heavy heart. Every year, the absence of Arthur seemed to weigh more and more heavily on his heart, and now he stood in a sort of half-slump, frozen as still as a soldier at attention, holding back the little shower of tears his eyes threatened to spill. Finally, he managed to wake himself from his depressed daze and straightened up; the firework finale was in ten minutes, and heaven be damned if he was going to sulk alone in his study while his guests enjoyed it without him.

As he descended down the long staircase, he thought he heard the doorbell ring. He stopped, listened, and decided it was nothing more than his imagination playing a cruel trick on him. He continued, only to hear it again, this time rung twice in an impatient manner. He increased his pace when the ringing was replaced with feverish knocking, desperately trying not to hope for the one person he wanted to see the most.

He reached the front door just as the knocking ceased, and without hesitation yanked it open in a dramatic flourish. He found himself looking at the retreating back of a shorter man with unruly blonde hair and wearing a brown suit. Slowly, his visitor turned around, and showed Alfred all he needed to see for his emotions to peak; a pair of shining, emerald-colored eyes under a pair of very large eyebrows.

All thoughts of a romantic kiss and confession of the deepest and truest love imaginable were thrown out the window as he stood frozen, staring into Arthur's eyes. He was certain he was hallucinating, it was impossible that after over two hundred years Arthur would finally appear, until said Englishman cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable.

"W-well then, now that you've decided to bloody let me in...here."

His voice was hoarse, and it was only then that Alfred noticed the red around Arthur's green irises. He'd clearly been crying.

Not wanting to picture something so heartbreaking, he quickly turned his attention to the small object in Arthur's outstretched hand. It was a box, small as Arthur's palm, wrapped in silver paper and topped with a blue ribbon. He took it with a shaking hand, lifting his gaze to look again into the Englishman's face. Arthur had turned away, his face now as red as the spilled salsa, and without a word stepped a little closer. He turned back to the still-silent Alfred and glared.

"Didn't I teach you anything?"

Alfred blinked; "Wh...wha..."

Arthur groaned in frustration, slapping himself in the forehead; "What, has your head gotten so big that you've forgotten how to properly thank someone for a gift?"

The reality of the situation suddenly crashed down around Alfred, and he was able to add together the gift in his hand, the date of the day, and the blushing man standing in the doorway of his home. His wish had come true, albeit over two centuries late, it had still come true. Finally.

Finally.

His composure regained, he smiled warmly at Arthur, who in turn looked bewildered, and put a hand on his shoulder. Their eyes met, and as Arthur's face reddened further, Alfred leaned in close.

"I haven't forgotten a thing, old man."

And as the finale of fireworks boomed and whistled in the background, lighting up the world around them, his birthday fantasy was fulfilled.


End file.
